Written at Your Local Library

I have mentioned previously that my compass is broken, and it’s the only way I am able to describe my heart/brain’s confusion at where it lives in relation to its loved ones.  Last night marked my first set of dreams involving Huntingdonians, so maybe my subconscious is catching up, or perhaps it just remembered those familiar sensory cues– ivy-covered windows, the heat of the bristly Dinah dog next to me in bed, the lights and rush of the train-scream, running the nearby rails all night.

We are drifting still but are soon to set up precisely where we first began, something that will be bitter and sweet all at the same time, I suspect.

First Yard

Xinli House Yard, Summer 2010


And we are freshly returned from an all-too-brief trip to southern Maryland, to visit the Madre y Padre de Jake and to retrive Jake’s tiny death car.

Purrhaps you recall, there is a cat there. Take it away, Tsi-Shi.


Seamus watches his cat walk away.

Seamus watches his cat walk away.











For today I am homeless, listening to dear ones sing through my headphones in this funny library with Albert tinkering in the basement and children squealing in the reading room, with the bike shop and the beer down the street and someday I will end up somewhere, I suppose.

With love to and for you all.


About bearicaquinn

Smallish, smushy in the sad parts, certainly destined for cat-lady-dom. Enjoys boats, bikes, black coffee, pug faces, sourdough bread, the morning when you have slept long enough, beards, mountainsides, art, rooftops, etc. Will continue to live in things that are interestingly shaped. So octopus.
This entry was posted in The Cats of Others, The Cats of Summer and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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